Running in High Heels
by CowMow
Summary: Life with Sheryl was never boring. In fact, Sheryl was the only woman John knew who could run around London all day in high heels without twisting her ankle. But then a case goes wrong; can Sheryl bear the consequences? Thankfully, John's there to help.
1. I

As soon as John entered the lab, he knew his life was about to change. All he didn't know yet was whether it was for bad or worse. He had met Mike Stamford around lunch-time and had gone for a drink with the man. After a chat, Mike had told him that a friend of his was looking for a flatmate. John should've known he should never have gone with Mike to meet this friend.

When the doors swung open, John had a clear view on the woman, bent over the aluminum table while delicately dropping a liquid in a petri dish. She had full lips, beautiful dark curling hair that touched her shoulders, but her cheekbones were unusually sharp as were her eyes. She had penetrating grey-blue eyes that saw through John in seconds. _Yes, he should have known. _

She was dressed in a suit, consisting of a black skirt and a tight-fitting jacket, her blouse perfectly white, high heels on her feet. She looked like a woman working in an office, her long fingers perfectly capable of typing quickly. She turned out to be a detective.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine," she had asked after a quick glance at John. Her voice was lower than a normal woman's voice, but somehow John had been intrigued from the start. It suited her.

"Sorry, it's in my coat," Mike had answered, his eyes glued on the woman in his lab. John had sighed inwardly. Of course, she has many admirers.

"Here, use mine," John had suddenly found himself saying. It turned out to be the best thing that had ever happened to him.

* * *

><p>Life with Sheryl was never boring. In fact, Sheryl was the only woman John knew who could run around London all day, or night for that matter, on high heels without twisting her ankle. Or, if she did, she never let him know. And to be honest, John was only too happy to run with her, solving crimes, meeting new people.<p>

There was detective inspector Greg Lestrade: an elder man who was the only man John had met who wasn't completely blown away by Sheryl's looks or deductions. Perhaps that's why she liked the man, but she never showed. He let in her into cases and she tried to solve them. Well, trying wasn't the right word. Succeeding would be closer. If John had been looking for a quiet, civilian life, with Sheryl he definitely was on the wrong address. No, John loved it. He loved every second of it. She gave him the thrill of the chase, the excitement of the investigations and the will to live a full life again.

Mike appeared to have a very pathetic crush on Sheryl. He reminded John of a puppy, a lovesick teenager. Sheryl had noticed of course, and used it very skillfully.

Molly Hooper was the pathologist, a shy girl who didn't say anything, but who came in usefully when Sheryl needed a body or a microscope.

Anderson and Donovan were different. They didn't hate Sheryl, but weren't overly fond of her either. When she came in on the crime scenes, Anderson often looked at her and coughed disdainfully. Donovan was jealous, that was completely obvious.

* * *

><p>They have had some very interesting cases, during which John learned more about the woman Sheryl, his new friend and flatmate. Bit by bit he began to understand her, but somehow she managed to surprise him. On these cases, they often met people who assumed they were a couple, which made John snigger all the time. Imagine that: beautiful Sheryl, with her curls, long legs and tight buttoned trench coat being in love with short, army-doctor John "Plain" Watson? Not that he minded, really. He loved to be with her, and he loved the running and the thrills, but nothing more. He was pleased, and honored, to be friends with this spectacular human being. Although he had to put up with the body parts, the noises, the violin at half past one in the morning, and the brother. Mycroft Holmes. John had a sister, Harry, himself, but never would he be so overly protective on his younger sister. He kidnapped John once or twice a week; interrogate him on Sheryl's health, her cases and how she was doing in general.<p>

Normally Sheryl was fine. The cases kept her busy and sharp, but then the boredom attacked. He had never seen her like that and he was, in fact, worried. He had met many female soldiers in Afghanistan, but never a woman who fired at walls, indoors, with John's gun. Mrs. Hudson didn't really seem to mind. She adored Sheryl as the daughter she never had, and Sheryl had adopted her as some sort of mother. No, Sheryl was different, and John knew. Perhaps that was why he always forgave her. Those eyes could look so pleading at John; he knew he was being manipulated but she was his flatmate and living with her was wonderful. So he threw away the head and fingers and turned the telly on, sipping from his cup of tea while Sheryl lay on the sofa, complaining about how extremely dull London was.

* * *

><p>When John had returned at Baker Street later than normal after a date with Sarah, he found Sheryl asleep on the sofa, dressed in pajama bottoms and a baggy grey t-shirt. John stood in the doorway, looking down on his flatmate. In the low light from the streets he features were softened. Her face was restful; a small, dreamy smile darting around her lips. The dark unruly curls spread over the armrest of the sofa, and John had to fight back the urge to stroke them.<p>

He did notice, however, her face was paler than normal and she had bags, barely visible, under her eyes. She looked vulnerable. Sheryl never looked vulnerable.

Sheryl's eyelids fluttered a little, and sleepily she asked him: "home already? How late is it?"

"It's almost twelve," John answered, still standing in the doorway.

"Oh!" Sheryl jerked up, entirely awake, and walked towards the table where she fiddled with some test tubes and the Bunsen burner. John sighed. "Sheryl, you need to sleep," but she didn't answer him.

"Sheryl?" John's voice was tinged with impatience, and Sheryl noticed. Her curls danced around her head when she turned to face him.

"Sheryl, you look a mess! You need food and sleep."

Still she didn't answer him.

"You are getting paler by the day, especially the last few days. Are you okay?" John felt a lump forming in his stomach. What if something _was _wrong?

"I'm fine, John. Go to bed." She focused on her experiments again, the conversation being over in her eyes.

"No." John folded his arms and waited for an answer.

"John, I'm fine." When Sheryl saw John was waiting for an answer, she snapped: "you're a doctor. Deduce it."

John looked puzzled when he stared at her.

Sheryl rolled her eyes. "I'm a woman. I'm grumpy and tired. I'm pale…" she looked at him expectantly.

It dawned on John. "Oh. It's your period. Gosh, I'm so sorry."

"Yeah. Well done, doctor. If you wouldn't mind to leave me alone right now, that would be splendid."

"Right, sorry Sheryl, I didn't know. I mean… Well, it's none of my business of course, but then you _are_ very irregular. I haven't seen you like this for… well, never, actually. And I've lived here for almost three months."

Sheryl sighed again. "Exercise and stress can cause irregularities in a woman's cycle, isn't it, doctor?" She let the last word sound a little sarcastic.

"You need to do something about it, Sheryl. It's not healthy."

"Good night John."

* * *

><p>Some days later, down, he found Sheryl sitting at the kitchen table, scrabbling down notes in her black notebook.<p>

"Ah, John. Are you busy tonight?" she asked, not looking up but examining the dust in the petri dishes.

John looked at her, and noticed how perfect she actually was. Her slender body was covered with a perfectly suiting tailored jacket. Her skin-colored tights never showed any sign of ladders whatsoever. He shook his head and focused on what she was saying.

"Sorry, what?"

Sheryl sighed and turned her chair towards the small blogger. "John, I need to you to help me infiltrate. We have to pretend we are together."

"What? Why-"

"I told you, weren't you listening?"

"No…"

"Great. There is a party where, I have good reasons to believe so, a murderer is going to attack his next victim tonight. I need you; an extra pair of eyes could come in handy."

"Oh, ok." John didn't bother to ask any questions, everything would become clear later that night.

He was just about to go to work, when she called after him. "Do me a favor and buy yourself a smoking. Black-tie will do." John sighed when he walked down the stairs. Hopefully his bank account wouldn't protest too much.

* * *

><p>That evening Sheryl ate something in fact, her cheeks not as pale as some days ago John noticed much to his relief. After dinner, both went to their own bedrooms to change and prepare for the night out.<p>

"Shall I shower first, Sheryl?"

"Fine."

* * *

><p>When John had put on his trousers and dress shirt, the doorbell rang and when Mrs. Hudson had opened the door Molly came up. The shy pathologist was carrying a velvet black box, which looked heavy.<p>

"Shall I help you with that?" John asked, being the polite Englishman he always was.

"Oh, no, thank you," Molly giggled. "Is Sheryl in already?"

"Erm, yes," John answered, motioning to the bathroom. "I believe she has just finished showering."

At that moment the door opened, allowing the steam to escape. "Ah, Molly! You are here already. Will my room do?" Sheryl stepped out of the bath room, covered only in a bath towel. John swallowed hard and excused himself, almost running up the stairs trying very hard not to think about that image.

* * *

><p>When he was completely and properly dressed he went downstairs. Sheryl sat on a chair in the middle of the living room, dressed in a blood-red strapless dress, her dark hair twisted up artistically. She faced the window, and Molly was busy with lipstick and eye powder and all kinds of make-up stuff. Curious, John walked round the two women to see what they had been doing. His breath stuck in his throat. Sheryl, noticing his reaction as always, rolled her eyes.<p>

"You look beautiful, Sheryl!" John muttered.

"Well, I feel like some sort of dressed-up monkey. But hey, I need to suit the other monkeys eh?"

"Well, there you are, Sheryl," Molly said suddenly, putting away the brushes. "Careful with the nails, the varnish needs to dry properly."

"Thank you Molly. I don't think we need to ask John what he thinks about this. Make sure you bring your jaw when we leave."

John grinned sheepishly. "I'm just not used to seeing you like this. Sorry, can't help it. How will we be going?"

"Mycroft consented to borrow us his limousine."

"Ah."

* * *

><p>When the limousine had driven away, Sheryl linked her arm in John's and smiled. "Pretend to be madly in love with me," she softly whispered.<p>

John only smiled. _That couldn't be too difficult, could it?_

The host greeted them, his gaze gliding up and down Sheryl's body. John could practically feel her rolling her eyes, and he grinned again. _Yes, tonight was going to be fun_.

And it _was_ fun. Sheryl was being polite and charming, acting normally almost. She, of course, attracted many men who wanted to dance with her, but she refused them all politely.

When John asked her why she did that, she answered matter-of-factly: "we're here to catch a killer, not to dance!", but when the music began to play, Sheryl pulled him towards the small space reserved to be a dance floor. John locked her in his arms and glided around with her. She leant closer and hissed in his ear: "the man with the tuxedo and the bald head: he is the killer. We have to distract him."

Both left the dance floor in a hurry and walked towards that man casually, Sheryl grabbing a glass of champagne in a swift movement. When they brushed past the murderer, Sheryl dropped the glass, spilling its content all over the man. Sheryl went into acting-mode and in quite a convincing way. She apologised to him over and over again, offering to help him. He consented to that and together they walked out of the room, John following from a distance. They disappeared around the corner, and John decided not to follow them.

He took out his mobile phone and texted her.

_What do you want me to do? –JW_

He waited for a reply, which arrived quite soon.

_Go home; it might take some more time to fix this. –SH_

_You sure? You don't need my help then? –JW_

_Perfectly sure. Home in an hour and a half at most. –SH_

_Be careful. –JW_

_I will. ;-) –SH_

John sighed, frowning a little over the smiley. Sheryl never used emoticons in her texts. He put the thoughts aside and left the building. Now he had to find a cab to bring him home.

* * *

><p><strong>Well, what d'you think? Continue or not? This idea has been in my head for quite a while now, and there are loads more for the two of them. Please review: it harldy costs any time and makes for a very happy author :D <strong>


	2. II

**Slightly shorter today I am afraid. Not beta'd so far, all mistakes are mine. Happy reading!**

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><p>John had taken a cab back to Baker Street. Somehow he was happy to be able to leave the noisy party and return to the quiet flat. He didn't worry about Sheryl for a single second; she would be perfectly capable of taking care of herself. So John made himself comfortable on the sofa, loosened his tie and switched on the telly, planning to thoroughly enjoy himself with an old-fashioned Bond-night. But when he was halfway through the film, Sheryl still hadn't showed up. Something close to worry grabbed John, and consequently, John took out his phone to text his friend.<p>

_Where are you? –JW_

He knew that when Sheryl said one and a half hour, she meant exactly that; she knew how long something would take in minutes precisely. He returned to his film with half focus, keeping his ears focused on any noise that came from downstairs that could possibly tell him Sheryl was returning.

_No, seriously. Where are you, SHERYL? Shall I pick you up? –JW_

Still he received no response. John was about to send her another text, when he heard soft footsteps on the stairs. He glanced at the clock; she had been away for over three hours. He got to his feet and opened the door about to give Sheryl a lecture about punctuality and answering texts when he saw her face. Well, actually her whole body.

"My goodness! Have you been fighting?" John exclaimed incredulously. His surprise was understandable; her hair, make-up and clothes were in a hell of a state, all loose and scratched and bruised.

She coughed. "I am fine. I had to fight three men. Yes, I won in case you were wondering. Lestrade's arresting them now." She swiftly brushed past John without paying any more attention to her best friend and walked straight to the bathroom.

"Sheryl?" John walked after her, but she closed the door in his face. He knocked softly. "Sheryl, those bruises look pretty serious. D'you want me to take a look?"

"No, thanks John. I'm fine. Bruises don't bother me that much," came the muffled reply.

John sighed and went to the kitchen. He didn't want to finish the film, he was worried about Sheryl.

The shower took unusually long for Sheryl's standards and when she finally emerged from the bathroom, she looked tired. She was wearing pajama bottoms and a simple shirt and her silk blue dressing gown. The skin that wasn't covered by the blue silk was exceptionally red like she had scrubbed herself really hard.

"Here, tea will do you good," John said, quickly scanning her with his doctor's eyes while handing her the steaming cup. She smiled and accepted the tea, sitting down on the sofa, both hands tightly wrapping around the warm cup.

John followed her example and sipped from his tea, looking at her over the brim of the cup. "Tell me what happened," he asked.

She sipped from her tea as well and sighed. "It was all pretty easy though. I followed the man and struck him down, grabbed his phone and called his boss. Three men showed up, one of them was the boss, and we had a fight and I won."

John had finished his tea already and left the room, to reappear some minutes later carrying his heavy, black doctor's bag in his right hand. Sheryl lifted an eyebrow when she saw it.

"Sheryl, those cuts need to be taken care of, I'll only do the necessary."

"Fine," Sheryl gave in, leaning back on the sofa closing her eyes.

When John's capable hands quickly floated over her body looking for hidden wounds and bruises, she noticed he held his breath. "My god, Sheryl! You're covered in bruises!"

Sheryl smiled ever so lightly and said nothing. John noticed she trembled, so he decided to give her something to help her sleep. Before she could protest the needle had dived into her soft white flesh, releasing the transparent liquid.

"There now," John softly spoke in his trust-me-I'm-a-doctor voice, lifting her in his arms carefully and brought her to her bedroom, slowly lowering her unto the bed. "Sleep tight, I'll be upstairs if you need me."

"I'm fine, I'm absolutely fine," she protested drowsily, already half asleep.

"I know."

He closed the door behind him softly, and stared straight ahead for a couple of moments. He was in doubt whether he should call Mycroft or do nothing and just let her have some precious moments of sleep. He decided to do the latter; apart from the bruises there was nothing wrong with Sheryl, perhaps she trembled because of the sudden release of adrenaline, perhaps she was just tired, or perhaps she just hadn't eaten enough. Most likely it was a combination of all three.

* * *

><p>With a big yawn, Sheryl entered the kitchen, noticing the already laid-out breakfast table. John looked up from his newspaper and smiled kindly at her. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, standing up and walking towards the kitchen.<p>

"Yes, I guess so," she answered, combing her hair with her hands.

John's eyes narrowed when he saw the bruises on her wrists, but he decided not to say anything about it. "Here, have some juice," he offered, sitting down as well.

She accepted some juice while John looked at her thoughtfully. "You had bad dreams tonight, didn't you?"

Sheryl stopped in her movement, her eyes flickering to her flatmate. "Well, I can't remember."

"You sounded terrified, I must say, I could hear you in my room. Did something happen what you're not telling me?"

"Must have been the last bit of adrenaline I suppose. Do you need to do any shopping today?"

John looked surprised. "Yes, I needed to buy some food for tonight and tomorrow at Tesco's. Why?"

"I'll do it today. Do you need anything else?"

"No, thanks… Are you sure?"

Sheryl nodded and left as soon as she had finished her juice. She got dressed fast and left the flat in a hurry. John frowned. He tried to think of things that could have happened, but nothing made sense at all. It must have been something when she refused to tell him. Sheryl never had nightmares in the way she had last night. Shall he phone Mycroft? He again decided not to; perhaps it really was the adrenaline and was he worrying for nothing.


	3. III

Well, probably full of mistakes with the tenses. :) Please, leave a review... Hopefully you all like it. :)

* * *

><p>John had to admit; he had never seen this coming. As a doctor he should have but somehow he hadn't. He had cursed himself for being very unobservant but now he knew there wasn't anything he could have done. There was enough that he <em>could <em>do however.

He was pondering over these guilty thoughts when he sat beside Sheryl's bed, her sleeping body curled up under the thin sheet. He sighed and got to his feet. He still didn't understand why hadn't been paying attention, but well... That had happened now. All he could do was taking care of Sheryl as well as he could.

John had started to understand that something was happening when the over-known black, sleek car had driven up beside him while he was about to do the shopping. The door had opened and John had stepped inside the car. Anthea hadn't looked up from her phone when the car drove off.

He was dropped in front of a tall building. When he walked in, Mycroft was already there, greeting him coldly. John had frowned; apparently Mycroft was in a bad mood. He had walked after the tall man, had followed him in the elevator and through the maze of corridors, until at last they reached a glass door. Mycroft opened it and beckoned the doctor to enter. As soon as Mycroft had closed the door behind him, he swirled around and pinned John against the wall, his mouth close to John's ear. His arm was blocking his throat; not enough to strangle the soldier but enough to discourage any movement or resistance.

"What did you do to Sheryl?" His hot hissing breath had tickled John's ear, sending shivers of fear down the doctor's spine.

"I didn't do anything," John had answered, panting and not understanding what was going on.

"Oh, don't you?" the tall man had let his hold on John weaken and stepped back from the shorter man. John had breathed heavily, his eyes constantly fixed on Sheryl's brother. He had fished a receipt out of his trouser pocket and let it dangle in front of John's eyes. "Then why did she do the shopping the day afterwards?"

John frowned, grabbed the receipt and took a closer look. It dated from three weeks ago. John searched his mind, trying to remember what had happened that day. "Wasn't that the day after the party at the murderer's?"

"Not just a murder, apparently." Mycroft sat down in a chair, his gaze fixed on John noticing his every move.

John looked at the receipt carefully. "Why did she buy that? It must have been an experiment," he concluded, looking up to meet the anger in Mycroft's eyes. Suddenly John suspected something. "You don't think…"

The elder brother had nodded. John's eyes had widened and he had shaken his head violently. "It wasn't me, Mycroft, if you might think that."

"Well, I know. But why did you leave her alone?" The threat of uncontrollable anger had lingered in the air.

"She insisted. I would only attract attention, so she sent me home."

John had sat down as well, a bewildered look in his eyes. He had sighed. "That explains a lot."

"What does?" Mycroft had jumped in on that immediately.

"The long shower, the bruises, the nightmares now and then." John lifted his head, guilt readable in his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

Mycroft had stood up. "Go back to her and help her as well as you can. If you need anything you know how to contact me."

"Why don't _you_ go? It's time for the childish feud to stop, especially when something like this has happened. It's Sheryl, for goodness' sake!"

"I know, John." Sorrow and sadness had been exposed on the tall man's face for a split second. John's features had softened when he made his promise. "I'll help her as well as I can."

John had smiled reassuringly and had left, somehow finding his way back to the car downstairs. As a doctor, he should have been able to read the signs, he had seen if often enough. He was ashamed.

* * *

><p>After the conversation with Mycroft, John had gone home immediately. He had slowly swung open the door of 221B and climbed the stairs. Sheryl was on the couch as usual, her eyes closed. John had sighed when he looked down at her.<p>

"Have you been seeing Mycroft again?" she had asked, her eyelids still covering her eyes. John had examined her face, not answering her rhetorical question. There were no tearstains on her face and her eyes weren't red-rimmed, but then… this was Sheryl, the woman who had difficulty exposing _sentiment_.

"Yes, I have."

"Fine. How was he? Still doing the diet?"

"He lost some pounds, I guess." John still stood near the sofa. "Sheryl?" Something in his question made her open her eyes.

"Why did you buy morning-after pills when you did the shopping three weeks ago?"

Something flickered in her cold grey eyes, before she forced a smile. "It was an experiment."

John used his doctor smile, hoping it looked trustworthy. "Was it?"

"No need to play the doctor on me, John."

"Sheryl, would you care to tell me what has happened three weeks ago?"

She sat up straight and on the verge of telling him to piss off when her eyes met John's and suddenly the harsh look in them disappeared. "John, do you remember what Mycroft had said at Buckingham Palace?"

John nodded. "He implied you were a virgin."

Sheryl closed her eyes, clasping her trembling hands together in an attempt to hide it. John saw she was reliving the horrible events, and he felt ice-cold fingers folding around his stomach. Softly she said at last: "I was."

John sat down beside her on the sofa and wanted to wrap his arms around her, but she pushed him away. Sheryl smiled wryly. "I never thought it would turn out to be so disgusting like that."

"Wh-why didn't you tell me?"

She shrugged. "It had nothing to do with emotions. This was just physical."

"Sheryl… that was something no-one should ever have gone through. I'll take you to a doctor immediately."

"Why?" Sheryl was not going to give in. "I'm fine where I am now."

"We need to know if the rapists were clean, perhaps we can even find out who they were. You need to be examined, what if something is terribly wrong? No, Sheryl, you are coming with me."

While Sheryl got dressed, John took out his phone. He dialed Mycroft's number and was answered immediately.

"Hello John." His voice was tense.

"It's what we thought it was, Mycroft. I'm taking her to see a doctor now. I'll let you know when I know more."

It was silent on the other end of the line.

"Mycroft?"

"Yes, I'm still here. Thank you, John. Take good care of her."

"John, are you ready?" Sheryl called, already fully dressed.

"I will, Mycroft," John said before he broke the connection.

* * *

><p>Sheryl ran up the stairs with two steps at the time. John followed her more slowly. She slammed the door of her bedroom closed and John sighed. Sheryl was mad. The doctor had run some tests on her, and thankfully, she was clean and no serious physical damage was done. John walked to the door of her bedroom and knocked on the door softly. "Sheryl, may I come in?"<p>

When he received no answer, he opened the door and saw her lying on the bed. He held the pregnancy test in his hand when he closed the door and stepped towards his flatmate. He sat down on the bed and laid a hand on her shoulder. "We need to do this, Sheryl. We need to know for sure."

He heard a shivering sigh escape from her fragile frame and felt a lump in his throat. He tried to swallow it away, but it didn't work.

She turned to lay on her other side and looked at him. "It affects you too, John." It sounded a bit amazed. He nodded. "Of course it does."

"Why?"

"Because you're my friend and it's just not supposed to be like this."

"John, I'm fine."

"No, Sheryl. You're obviously not. You haven't done a case in two weeks; your screams woke me up twice. We need to do this test, do it for me."

"I took the pill almost immediately," Sheryl protested.

"They work well, but not perfectly." He held the test up and handed it to her.

Sheryl exited the bathroom and threw the test to John. "We have to wait two minutes. I'm sure I'm not pregnant. I can't be."

John bit his lip and said nothing. When the result came, the two dreaded blue stripes, John closed his eyes. Sheryl didn't say anything, but stood up and walked to her room.

When John sat down on her bed quietly and placed his hand over hers, he felt her tremble slightly. She opened her eyes and he saw they were shinier than normal.

"Oh, Sheryl, I'm so sorry."

"I-I'm scared, John. I'm really, properly scared."

"I know. But I am here and I will help you all the way whatever you may decide. I want to help and so does Mycroft. We will be fine, okay?"

He squeezed her hand softly and was about to leave the room to allow Sheryl some rest, when she grabbed his hand. "Please, stay…" she murmured sleepily from all the emotions and a lack of sleep. John smiled and sat down. He watched her fall asleep in a sleep she really needed, more than anything else.

_We will be fine, Sheryl. Everything will be okay. There are options and we can do this. Just trust me and we will be fine. You will be fine. _


	4. IV

**It's a bit of a Shorty today. Sorry for the wait: I am terribly busy with school…! Forgive me, and please review. Perhaps they will give me inspiration and time :) Happy reading!**

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><p>It didn't take long for Lestrade to understand something was amiss. Sheryl and John hadn't showed up at the Yard for a good month now, and Lestrade's texts were never answered. So when his shift had ended one day, he lifted his coat from the peg and hailed a cab to 221B.<p>

Mrs. Hudson opened the door for him and greeted him like a long-lost son. Lestrade smiled; only Mrs. Hudson could make a man feel welcome. He wasn't so sure about Sheryl though. He climbed the stairs and opened the door towards the living room. John was reading a newspaper, Sheryl was typing away on her laptop.

Lestrade coughed and John smiled up at him. "Hi, Greg! Good to see you. Want a cuppa?"

The DI nodded and sat down in the spare chair. He looked at Sheryl intently; his gaze gliding over her body. Sheryl looked up and her eyes met his immediately. She narrowed her eyes as if to say w_hat are you looking at? _Greg smiled bravely and asked her seriously: "are you okay?"

"Yep, sure, never been better, have I John?" she coldly answered. John who was busy in the kitchen didn't answer, but only threw her a worried look, which didn't get lost on the DI.

"Is that true? You haven't been at the Yard for over four weeks, Sheryl. Even Anderson starts missing you, sort of."

Sheryl sniggered and turned back to her laptop. "Well, I have some other things on my mind right now."

The DI lifted an eyebrow and looked at John who handed him the cup of tea silently. Suddenly Sheryl closed the lid of the laptop violently and almost ran towards her bedroom. With a worried look in his eyes the DI glanced at John. John sighed and took a gulp from his tea. He then put down the cup in the saucer and looked at the DI.

"She's not okay, I'm afraid," the blogger said sadly.

The DI rolled his eyes. "I figured that one out, yes. What's wrong with her?"

The doctor answered: "Sheryl and I went to a party, a murderer was supposed to be there too. We had a great time, until Sheryl decided to go after the gang on her own. I went home, and waited for her to return. She even texted me she was fine. But when she came back she looked ravished and went for a shower immediately. Two weeks ago, her brother pointed it out to m: Sheryl has been raped and is pregnant now."

The DI gulped for air, making a choking sound. John swallowed hard. "I know, Greg. It's horrible." John suddenly looked lost and his shoulders lowered under the feeling of guilt.

The DI got to his feet and asked: "is it okay if I check on her?"

John nodded. "Somehow she doesn't listen to me. She hardly eats, hardly sleeps… she's just lying there all day. We really need her on a case to divert her thoughts. Hopefully you can help us out here."

The silver-haired DI nodded and walked towards Sheryl's bedroom. He softly knocked on her door and swung it silently open when he didn't receive an answer. He closed the door behind him, blocking out the world.

"Sheryl?" the DI asked the darkness. The curtains were drawn closely shut, not a single light-ray penetrated inside the room.

She didn't answer him, so the DI groped towards the bed, and sat down on it. He felt her body warmth and smiled. "John told you, didn't he?" she suddenly asked.

The DI nodded, realised she couldn't she see that, and answered hesitantly: "yes he did."

It was quiet for some time.

"Do you want to keep it?" he asked at last.

"Abortion isn't an option. From what I have read on the internet it's quite traumatizing. I can't keep a baby in this flat, not with my job and the experiments and such."

"Are you considering adoption then?" he suggested.

She didn't answer in words, but he felt her nodding.

"Sheryl? I have some cases I really need your help on. Would you care to help me? Perhaps it's a good way to adjust to this… news."

"It could be dangerous. I don't think I can focus enough."

The DI's hand found Sheryl's cold one in the dark and squeezed it gently. "We're all here to help. I think nothing will make you feel better than scolding the good old forensics."

"He's not that good," Sheryl replied, a ghost of a smile in her voice.

* * *

><p>The next day, early in the morning, the doors at the Yard swung open, and Sheryl, followed by John, entered the room. They walked straight towards Lestrade's office and went inside.<p>

When the three of them exited again, Anderson was waiting for them. "Well, have you lost your way?"

"Oh, sorry Anderson. I didn't know you missed me." Sheryl's demeanor was cold, but John could tell she loved being back here. "I'm sorry to break your heart, Anderson, but I have a case to solve. Bye-bye, lover boy!" and with her usual dramatic manner she left the building: her coat a bit swirling, her high heels ticking on the floor.

The days grew to weeks during the cases the pair worked on. Somehow Lestrade always had some cases for Sheryl to focus on. Her pregnancy began to show, but neither Anderson nor Donovan made nasty remarks. Apparently, Lestrade had filled them in on the news and threatened to kill them if they ever said anything.

John had a busy time. He had to make sure Sheryl ate and slept regularly, and that wasn't easy. One morning, she was three months in her pregnancy, when John came down and noticed the plate with cooled food standing beside her at the kitchen table, he couldn't stand it anymore.

"Sheryl!" he yelled, causing her to jump and turn around.

"What, John?" she asked angrily.

"Why haven't you eaten? You are already too light, and you don't sleep..! I'm sick and tired of this! I promised I you and Mycroft and Lestrade that I would take care of you, but you could cooperate as well! Let me say this to you _one more time_," he said, stressing the last three words.

"When a woman is pregnant, it's important for her to eat and sleep regularly, otherwise the baby will be an unhealthy one. Now I don't care whether you want to keep it or not, you are going to take good care of you, or I'll alert your brother."

Sheryl just looked at her best friend and sighed turning back to her experiments. John slammed his flat hand on the table. "Sheryl, for goodness sake: listen to me!" he shouted. "Work? Fine! But not at your and your baby's cost."

When she didn't react, he said softly: "I'm talking to a wall. Fine! I'm off to work; you sit here and ruin your life."

He walked downstairs and slammed the door shut behind him.

Sheryl stared over her microscope at the kitchen wall. Slowly, her head dropped and her shoulders started to shake. If there was anyone with her in the room, that person could have heard soft, sobbing noises. But Sheryl was on her own now, and finally, after almost three months, she allowed herself a small amount of grief and _emotions_. A silent tear rolled down her cheek, followed by another one. She didn't even trouble wiping them away.


	5. V

**This chapter is dedicated to _Irene Holmes_ for reviewing every single chapter so far! Thank you very much! Also thanks to all my faithful readers. It's nice to know a story is being read. :) Happy reading!**

John had slammed the door behind him, but as soon as the door closed his anger had disappeared. He sighed. It wasn't easy for either of them. She had to adjust. But it had been three months already! Her weight was too low, her face too pale, her belly not swelled enough. It showed, yes. But John had seen more pregnant women in his life before, and when a woman was three months in, there was supposed to be a swell there. Not enough in Sheryl's case though.

He pulled his jacket around his body closer and felt for his wallet. It was in his coat-pocket. He decided to go and buy groceries. He had to go to work, but right now his best friend needed his help. Perhaps some gherkins and other vinegary stuff might cheer her up.

John felt sorry for yelling at her, but she was so frustrating: never eating, not caring about anything but her work, nothing at all. John had had some other raped women in his consulting room, and all were bruised; outside and inwardly. Sheryl never talks about these things. Every time John wanted her to, she would just say: "it has nothing to do with feelings, John. I'm fine," although it was clearly visible she wasn't. Lestrade gave the two of them the easy jobs, nothing dangerous. He cared about Sheryl, which was obvious to John... If only she let them help her. John would do everything for her, anything at all. That's what friend do, don't they? He wanted to apologize to her for the yelling and the reproaching; it's not as if Sheryl could help this situation. It's just… he was so worried and concerned and she would push him away as soon as he came to close. John balled his hands into fists in inward frustration.

* * *

><p>With a bag in his hand he opened the door of his flat. When he had reached the landing, he saw Sheryl lying on the sofa, her eyes shut. He looked down on her and noticed the tearstains on her face. His heart swelled at the sight. She was coping very bravely, but all on her own. He watched her intently. Her breathing was slow and shallow; she was obviously asleep. His gaze glided down from her face to her belly, the slightly visible bump that started to form. Softly he walked towards the kitchen and made her some hot lunch and tea. No coffee for now.<p>

"Sheryl, wake up," John shook her shoulder gently. Her eyes fluttered open, her eyes darted around confusedly. "Here, I made you lunch."

He offered her the plate, and the first thing she took was the little gherkin. John smiled. "I already thought you might like that."

Sheryl munched the gherkin, looking at her flatmate. "Didn't you have to go to work?"

John smiled again. "Well, I can be a doctor there, or here. I took the day off. It's time you don't spend time alone."

"I'm fine, John," Sheryl protested, saying it like some sort of mantra.

John tilted his head. "You obviously are not." He gently placed his hand on her cheek, cupping it. She leaned into the touch involuntarily. John's eyes softened. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about it, Sheryl?"

"John…" Sheryl sighed. "I don't want to bother you with that. Why do you want me to talk about it all the time? It's not any concern of yours; I made clear it's not your fault at all earlier on."

John's hand fell back in his lap. "I just.. Let's just say I hate seeing you like this, Sheryl. It's hard enough for a woman to be pregnant on her own, let alone when she's… well, you know."

They looked at each other for some very long moments. Then Sheryl broke the spell by looking at her now empty plate. "John?"

"Yes?" he answered; his eyes still locked in hers.

"Do you have any more gherkins?"

* * *

><p>Sheryl finished down the whole stack of gherkins John had bought for her. The rest of the day was quietly spent at Baker Street. They laughed and jokes and watched crap telly. When it was time for dinner neither of them felt like cooking so John took up his phone and ordered Chinese take-away.<p>

When the doorbell rang, John got up and picked it up.

The eat-of trays were divided between the two of them, and John sank down upon the sofa next to his flatmate. There was some film on but neither of them really paid any attention. When the plates were empty, John turned off the telly and looked at his friend.

"Sheryl? I have been thinking... I think you need to tell me what happened and what you felt. You shouldn't have to deal with this all on your own. I want to help and be there for you, but you have to let me in there…" his pressed his index finger against her forehead. His finger slid down her face, lingering on her lips. Sheryl's eyes widened just the tiniest amount as his eyes fixed on her lips. Unconscious of his own reactions, John parted his lips slightly as he leaned closer towards his friend, his eyes not leaving her lips for a moment.

Sheryl backed away quickly when she understood what was going to happen. John was snapped back to reality. "Sheryl, I'm sorry! I don't know what happened…" he stammered, apologizing clumsily, eying her.

Sheryl shook her head, the ghost of a smile darting around her lips. "You're worried about me; you like me and feel protective. Happens more, don't worry. I've read all about this on the internet."

"You read about _this_ on the internet?"

She nodded matter-of-factly. "Of course.. I've never been pregnant before." The situation nestled between the friends uncomfortably.

John cleared his throat in a vague attempt to break the silence. "Do you want to tell me?"

After a slight hesitation, Sheryl nodded. She pulled her feet under her body and leaned backwards comfortably against the soft sofa's pillows, facing John, who turned his body to study her better.

The dimmed light that came from the streets shone from behind her like an aureole. Her face stood out whitely from her surroundings, her body arched graciously.

John's little world existed for one purpose this night; comforting this genuinely genius woman. A job John was more than willing to take on.

They stared at each other, and at long last she began to speak softly.


	6. VI: Sheryl's Diary

I'd better start writing than eh? Not that I want to, of course not. Writing is a tedious business. But John insisted and it's not the right time to disappoint him now. He forced me to talk to him about feelings. Feelings are stupid, it's easier to hide them away. Just ignore them. I was perfectly capable at that, but somehow that changed. John blames it to the hormones. The curse of a pregnant body, I suppose. I'm feeling fragile, stupid and… dare I say… scared. Now that's a sentiment I've only ever felt before when I had been drugged, during the case John like to refer to as The Hounds of Baskerville. I think it is a stupid title, but John says people like it. It's his blog, he may do what he likes.

Yes, I'm scared. Properly scared. Not that I want to tell John, of course. The doctor has enough to worry about already, I don't think he can handle my troubles too. He would be glad to, but I can't let him.

He was the one to say I had to write things down. Utterly stupid of course. No-one will ever read this, I certainly won't. He said it would help; his psychiatrist said he had to as well. I'm not sure. How can writing possibly help me? It won't do things from the past undone. It won't change anything at all.

The morning sickness has lessened at last. I couldn't even stand the smell of coffee, thankfully John was so cooperative as not to drink that horrible liquid for three months. Anderson, stupid man, wasn't, but well.. what to expect from a man whose IQ is lower than that from my chair?

John wanted me to tell him about the rape. I didn't want to, he understood. He gave me this little noteblock, and smiled. He can smile so kindly and caring. I would almost fall in love with the man. Which is a joke. Bugger. John said I had to write everything down what I thought of. Shame my brain is too fast. Hard to keep up with.

I just hope all will be well. Imagine me with a baby. Sheryl Holmes, mother of little baby Holmes. I'm sure Mycroft will be a very proud uncle. Mental note: never leave the baby alone with Mycroft. Poor child. Look, it's not giving birth that I am afraid of. Surely it will hurt, but pain will fade over time. It just means I have to make a decisions. Keeping the baby, or give it away for adoption. I don't know.. the idea of having a baby at 221B… I'm sure Mrs. Hudson will love the idea, but can I do that? Can I, Sheryl Holmes the self-proclaimes sociopath, take care of a baby? John could, of course. But John is a doctor. John can do anything.

It's just, I have this job. I need the Work. I need the thrill. I don't want to need sleep, I don't want to be forced to do something. A baby will take over my life and I am willing to give it anything, it's just.. can I do it? Lestrade has offered to help as well, just like John and Mycroft. I haven't told our mummy yet. I'm sure she will say that I have been careless. It's all my fault. I just have to find a husband, marry and settle down. Chasing criminals all around London is not really a girl's job. I'm sure she will say that, and I will feel even more miserable. I just don't want to tell her. Hopefully Mycroft has prepared them already. I don't think he has. He has not even bothered me with his stupid worries about national importance cases. He hasn't even called. For a man who claims to be so worried about me I could have expected a bit more attention. I think I want him to.

Will my life change much with the arrival of the youngest Holmes? When I think about it, I get nightmares of a crying baby, I'm not able to stop her from crying. Sometimes I even think Moriarty will find the weak spot and take the baby.

It just sucks.

I told you writing was tedious. It just makes me think and think and worry and think… John is helpful, he just asked how I was doing and if I wanted some tea. He is worried, of course he is. Doctors are always worried, especially when my weight is too low and my face too pale. I just can't help it. I can't just carry on, can I?

I never cared about sex or having a family. John does, he thinks domestic bliss is heaven. Well, much bliss it will be. Me, a baby, no husband, probably no job, a scary uncle, and angry mother and a disappointed father. I hope dad won't be that. I'm sure he will.

I need to tell them. Perhaps I'll call them now. Better get it over with asap. Perhaps I'd better ask John. John is perfect. Is that what people call a friend? Something weird happened between us.. he suddenly leaned forward as if to kiss me. I'm sure it's just the stress. From what I read on the internet men don't like pregnant women, especially not when they're not the father. I hope John won't leave. I don't know wha to do without John. He must find me ugly and soon I'll be fat too. Seriously, I'm going to find that man and kill him. I need to be fast, I'm sure I can't keep running through London when I'm a fatty. My shoes were tight yesterday already, I was glad to be able to kick them off. That had never happened before to me. Normally, I can walk around on them for ages. Not good. I'd better tell my parents, I suppose. But |Mycroft first. I have a doctor's appointment over 30 minutes. I'm not going to tell him, but I want him to come. John has to work. I don't want to be alone.


	7. VII

**A/N Woozers, almost over 2000 words :) How good of me. :) This chapter was easy to write, now I'm only hoping I got all the characters right. Don't hesitate to leave any comment, Review Alerts in my inbox always make me very happy. Happy reading, please enjoy! Oh, and thanks to y'all that reviewed, favourited and alerted, it's nice to get response to a story! Dedicated to all my faithful readers :)**

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><p>Mycroft was at the end of a very long and tedious day when his phone beeped. With a weary look on his face he opened the text message, and he closed his eyes when he read its content.<p>

_Busy tomorrow at 11? –SH_

_That depends. –MH_

_Doctor's appointment. –SH_

_The car will be at your house at 10.30. –MH_

He waited for his phone to beep again, but nothing came. He pinched the bridge of his nose, deep in thought. Suddenly it dawned on him. Sheryl wanted _him_ to come? That made less than no sense: she had John, hadn't she?

He stood up from behind his desk and walked slowly towards the door, picking up his umbrella on his way. He flicked off the light and closed the door behind him.

"Anthea, cancel all appointments tomorrow. My little sister needs me. Take the day off, okay? Goodbye."

He walked down the stairs and stepped in his limousine. Home. He needed home. A drink and a nice fire in the fireplace would cheer him up. He had a tough day coming tomorrow.

* * *

><p>At 10.30 precisely the sleek car reached Baker Street. Mycroft leaned back in the leather seat and closed his eyes wearily. He was tired. His eyes were bloodshot, black bags under his eyes; he didn't get over three hours sleep last night. The door of the car opened and Sheryl's lean figure appeared in the opening. "Ah, Mycroft," she said with a slight hint of surprise in her voice. He smiled a little and watched her when she seated in the leather seat as well.<p>

"You didn't have to come, you know," she said when the car began to move. His gaze flew up and down her face and body, lingering a second at her slightly swollen belly. He looked her in the eyes and said, trying to sound casually; "you look rubbish," ignoring her remark.

She snorted. "You're one to speak. How are the Chinese Elections?"

"China doesn't do elections."

"Don't they?"

"Only local. Not our… cup of tea."

"Still, you didn't have to come," his little sister shrugged and looked out the window.

"Well," her brother answered, "your text gave me the feeling you wanted me to come with you." He didn't doubt his previous deductions for a second.

Sheryl looked at her big brother. "I haven't told mum and dad yet." She didn't ask her question, but both siblings knew what it was. The red-haired man picked his phone out of his pocket. "No, Sheryl, I'm not going to do it for you. You do it. Here, use mine."

Sheryl ignored the offered phone and took out her own. "I don't have to use yours, My," she said, dialing her parents' number already.

"I didn't know you knew their number by heart," Mycroft remarked, glancing at her phone. _Three unread messages. Why didn't she open them?_

After a few rings it was picked up on the other end. Mycroft looked straight ahead, fooling no-one really. His eyes are fixed on Sheryl's face through the little mirror in front of the car.

"Holmes."

"Hi, dad."

There was a short silence.

"Sheryl?" her father asked incredulously. "Is everything alright?"

"Hmm hmm," Sheryl hummed, "I'm fine. Is mum there too?"

"Yes, of course," he answered, quickly passing the phone over to her mother. _Standing nearby, triggered by the use of Sheryl's name. Obvious._

"Hi, mum. I was wondering; do you still knit?"

"_Knit_?"

"Yes."

"Erm, yes, sometimes. Why? Do you need a jumper?"

"Great use of sarcasm, mum. No, I don't. I might need some little jumpers within six months though."

"What are you saying, Sheryl?" Her mother's voice sounded shrill.

"That I might need some little ju-"

"Yes, so I heard. _What_ are you saying?"

Sheryl smiled; her mum hadn't changed a bit. "I'm pregnant." Next to her, Mycroft sighed and pinched his nose. Sheryl grinned; she loved to shock her relatives.

"Oh."

"Mum, is that all you can say? You should be proud; I'm the first to give you a grandchild."

"Who's the father, Sheryl?" her mother demanded to know.

"I don't know."

"You don't _know_?" Her mother's confusion was complete.

"Well, it was dark."

"Dark? Sheryl…?" worry started to creep through.

"Next time I'll ask his name, okay?"

"What? Sheryl!"

"Sorry, mum. Will you tell dad? I've arrived at the doctor's now, My and I are going in. See ya!" and she disconnected. She stuffed the phone back in her coat pocket and leapt out of the car. "Happy now, My?" she shouted over her shoulder. Her brother shrugged and got out too. His phone rang. He looked at the tine screen of his phone and sighed again.

_**Mum and dad **__calling__**.**_

And he had thought life couldn't become any worse. "Hi, mum!" he said much too cheerfully while he walked after his sister.

"Mycroft?" his mother yelled.

Mycroft closed his eyes, as her voice cut through his already soar brain. "Yes, mum?"

"What has happened to Sheryl? I want to know."

Mycroft silently cursed his sister for her Holmes-way of telling something to someone. He sighed and opened his eyes, his hand resting on the doorknob. "Sheryl has had an… accident."

"Mycroft…!" It was his father, apparently they were on speaker.

"She's been raped and has become pregnant," Mycroft said quietly, deciding it was better to get over with as soon as possible.

He heard his mother gasp, and could easily imagine her standing in the room with her cheeks flushed, hand covering her mouth in utter shock and horror.

"I discovered it later, she hadn't told anyone," Mycroft defended himself for not telling sooner.

"My, you're the one to keep an eye on her," his mother whispered. "How could this happen? How is Sheryl?"

"Mum, I don't know. She was on a case and something went wrong. She never told me how or why it happened, officially I know nothing. John keeps me posted."

"Do I have to go to London, My? _How_ is she?" his mother asked.

"I don't know, but then I never really understand Sheryl. Those things are all… _feelings. _You know Sheryl and I don't do feelings. We do not _care._"

"But this is… poor Sheryl. I'll be in London by tomorrow. I need to see her. She's been pregnant for 3 bloody months, and she's been all on her own. I'm coming. Tell her _that_!"

Mycroft frowned. His mother never cursed. The door opened and Sheryl stuck her head around the edge. "Still talking to my parents? I'm in the waiting room if you're looking for me," and her head with the dancing curls disappeared again. Mycroft inhaled deeply and greeted his parents before hanging up.

He opened the door and entered the white-washed building. He spotted Sheryl in an uncomfortable chair, arms casually draped over the armrests, but Mycroft could tell she was filled with tension. Quietly he sat down beside her and looked around the room. He groaned inwardly; there were two happily married couples with kids sitting in front of them. The mothers were cooing and talking and admiring the little kids of the other. He felt Sheryl stirring uncomfortably and saw she looked away.

One of the kids, a small girl with black hair and blue eyes sucked on her thumb while looking at Sheryl.

"You becomes mummy," the little girl stated. Sheryl rolled her eyes. "No, I will become a mummy," she said, correcting the girl.

"Oh. Are you the pappy?" she asked Mycroft. Sheryl narrowed her eyes and gave her brother an amused look. She was sure she saw a little blush creeping under his collar. Mycroft shook his head and gave the girl a small nod.

"Shelley, come here," her mother called the black-haired little girl. She looked at Sheryl and Mycroft, an apologizing look in her eyes. "Sorry, Shelley here is a clever little know-it-all, aren't you?"

"It's… fine," Sheryl said, more out of an eagerness to keep things quiet than to be nice to someone.

But the mother of the girl didn't pick that up. "How long are you in?" she asked.

"Three months," Mycroft answered for Sheryl, trying to divert the woman's attention.

A beaming smile appeared on the woman's face. "Congratulations on you both!"

Sheryl opened her mouth to explain the situation properly, but the doctor's assistant had appeared and called Sheryl's name.

Mycroft followed her on her heels, closing the door behind him.

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes later the door opened again, and Mycroft walked out of the room, followed by Sheryl. Silently the siblings walked towards the desk of the assistant to make a new appointment.<p>

When Sheryl pushed the door to go outside, she spotted a small, stuffed dog on the floor. Her eyes darted around and noticed the little black-haired girl. She ran towards the kid and her mother who were getting inside the car. Sheryl knelt down in front of the little girl and offered her the stuffed animal. "Here, don't forget your dog, Shelley," she softly said, her finger already risen to stroke the soft, reddened cheek of the little girl, but she decided against it almost immediately. Shelley grabbed the cuddly toy and hugged it closely, murmuring to it incomprehensibly. Her mother scolded her friendly. "Shelley, say thank you to the friendly lady!"

Sheryl rose and smiled a little. She turned to join her brother in the limousine after glancing at the happy black-haired girl, a sad smile around her lips.

The ride home was silent and tense. Before Mycroft allowed his sister to leave the car, he gently placed his hand on her arm. "Sheryl, mummy is coming to London tomorrow to check on you."

Sheryl's jaw tightened, but she only nodded, opening the door. Mycroft squeezed her arm. "I'm glad everything was okay with the baby and you." He cleared his throat. "Take care, Sher."

Sheryl's eyes locked in his for a second before smiling sarcastically. "Don't go emotional now, Mycroft. Now please, excuse me, Lestrade needs my help," and away she was.

Mycroft motioned the driver to take off. "Back to the office, I'm afraid, George," he said before turning to his newspaper for five minutes of relaxation.

* * *

><p>"Ah, Sheryl, how did it go?' John asked as soon as she had hung her coat at the peg.<p>

"Fine, John. All's well." She avoided the doctor's gaze and headed for the kitchen to make tea. John's eyes followed her in silence. "It's just… I need to eat more, and more regularly," she added, putting water in the kettle. "I need to sleep more…"

John smiled. "Exactly what I told you to do."

Sheryl turned sharply and looked at the blogger. "I know. But-"

"But you're not used to it. I'll help, I told you."

Sheryl's eyes softened for a bit, before she turned away again to put the kettle on. "Lestrade texted me four times today. He has a case of which he doesn't understand anything. We're returning to normal. At least…" the consulting detective sighed, watching the water starting to boil.

John smiled again and returned to his screen. One of his blogs had a respond, but when he read it, he turned white. He glanced at Sheryl, decided not to tell her, and deleted the comments, disabling the entry for further comments.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So, I guess next chapter will contain a little case, I need to get Sheryl back to her feet, don't I? Thank you for reading. Any suggestions, prompts or just anything will be more than welcome. (I doubt between going very angsty to very sweet fluffiness.) Virtual cookies are ready for the reviewers :)**


	8. VIII

Wow, that update took me a long time. I was rather anxious about this, am not 100% satisfied with it though. I'm just trying different things here. If you have ideas of how to improve, I'd be happy to hear them, anytime. Thanks to ForeverSmiling and Irene Holmes; my faithful reviewers!

Btw, looking for the song? Chiquitita by the wonderful ABBA. It was on repeat while I was writing this chapter. I just thought it fitted so perfectly. And I love ABBA. 'Nough said :) Hopefully _you_ do enjoy this chapter.

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><p>With the sleep still in his eyes did John walk down the stairs towards the kitchen. Oh, how nice. It was weekend; he was glad it was weekend. He had only been in bed for two hours though. The case had been an exciting one. After they had finished their cup of tea and toast (Sheryl too, John didn't know why, really), they had gone out to the crime scene. Sheryl had been deducing, insulting Anderson and Donovan, dashing about and shouting, and after a run through London they had found the killer. Sadly enough the man had hanged himself in an obscure alleyway. Sheryl hadn't been fast enough, and John could see she blamed herself. Well, a woman who was three months pregnant had the full right to be a little slower; it's just that Sheryl didn't see it that way.<p>

John rubbed his eyes. He had woken up and felt the need to drink some water, but he didn't know why. He sometimes had that feeling very often in the morning, but most of those times he was too tired to get out of bed and give in to the feeling. Normally he would turn over to his other side and sleep on.

Today was different. His feet ached and he felt really thirsty, and that's how the brave soldier turned on the kettle and waited for the water to start boiling.

Half drowsy he leaned against the kitchen table (very carefully of course, he didn't want to ruin any of Sheryl's running experiments) and sighed deeply. His breath stuck in his throat as he realised what was wrong. He heard running water. He turned around and walked past Sheryl's room to the bath room. It was locked. John frowned. It was half past five in the morning. Why would Sheryl take a shower?

He knocked softly on the door. "Sheryl?"

He didn't receive a reply, so he asked again, adding: "are you alright, Sheryl?"

When he still heard nothing, his heart was pounding in his throat, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he took a run up and crashed his shoulder against the door. The door gave way immediately, but at first he couldn't see anything because the steam was so dense. The whole bathroom was covered in a dig fog and John waited eagerly for it to vapourise.

"Sheryl?" he asked softly, when he saw her form half-lying-half-sitting under the shower, hot water streaming over her limp body.

_How long has she been in here? _John cursed himself for not noticing, and quickly turned off the running tab, seeing it was almost turned to its hottest. John quickly grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his friend, gingerly lifting her in his arms, pulling her close to him. Her body was still and very hot. He took her out of the bathroom and walked quickly towards her bedroom.

Slowly he lowered her unto her bed and dried her before putting a blanket over her body. She needed to be cooled, he thought, so he quickly gathered a bucket, filled it with cold water, dumped three towels in it and covered his friend's body with the soaked towels.

"You stupid, stupid girl," John mumbled, refreshing towel after towel, wringing and soaking them for ten minutes.

After ten minutes of agony, Sheryl's eyes fluttered open and she whispered softly: "Jo-ohn? I'm sorry, I -"

"Shh," John shushed. "It's okay now. Go to sleep."

"I can't. Mu-mom is coming today."

John grinned. "Not at six o'clock in the morning I hope?"

Sheryl grimaced. "Then you have never met our mother." John didn't answer and just put his callused hand on her forehead, feeling her drifting off to sleep slowly. He bent over to press a kiss on her damp forehead, but he changed his mind seconds before he touched her skin. _Better not_. He stood and left the room, leaving the door open.

He walked towards the living room to keep an eye open for Sheryl and perhaps her mother.

He sipped from his cream tea now and then, trying to type a blog entry. A sudden scream jerked him out of his concentration, up to his feet and in Sheryl's bedroom in absolutely no-time. "Sheryl?"

John ran over to the bed and sat down beside the curled-up body of his friend, suddenly at loss of what to do. Her fragile frame shivered and she sobbed. John felt his heart going out to her and did all he could do: he laid his hand on her shoulder in an effort to comfort her, but she shuddered under his touch and tried to curl up even more. John bit his lip and tried again, his hand lingering above her shortly.

"Sheryl?" he whispered, shaking her shoulder in an attempt to wake her up. Thankfully it seemed to work; she blinked and opened her eyes.

"J-John?"

The doctor smiled comfortingly. "I'm here. You just had a bad dream, that's all. How are you feeling?"

"Crappy," his friend sighed in response, closing her eyes again and leaning back in the pillows. Her breath was ragged and shallow; her brow pearled with sweat beads.

John's hand was on her face to wipe it away before he knew. "Oh, my beautiful idiot," he murmured. Sheryl grimaced again. "You watch way too much Doctor Who, doctor," she said, making a poor attempt at cracking a joke. She sighed deeply with her eyes still closed. John's hand glided away from her forehead to her cheek where he brushed the tears from her face, his thumb dangerously close to her bottom lip. "Do you want to talk, Sheryl?"

She shook her head, but John grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently. "Well, I think you need to, Sher. It has been three months and you never talked about it. Those night terrors… they're normal after what happened to you, but I do think talking about it _will_ help."

Without knowing, John had turned over to his doctor-mode. He had seen situations like this oh so many times before, but seeing your best friend turned into a wreck by this was coming hard on John. He wanted to help her but she didn't let him.

"Talking will help?" Sheryl repeated, opening her eyes now, staring at John. "You want me to relive all… that… and it will help? I'm sure it won't."

John sighed. "You know what? You get dressed, I'll make tea and toast and we will just relax." John rose from the bed and looked at Sheryl's form under the sheet. "I won't take no for an answer this time," he said when he walked out of the room, leaving the door ajar just to make sure he would hear if anything happened.

When Sheryl entered the kitchen ten minutes or some later, the tea was already standing on the little kitchen table, and the toast just sprung up. John quickly glanced up and down Sheryl's body, and noticed that her clothes hardly fitted any more.

"I know, I need to buy new clothes. Perhaps mother would like to join me," the detective said bitterly, taking up the cup and bringing it to her lips.

John's eyes glided down from her waist to her ankles. His eyes widened when he saw her ankles were swollen and reddish. Sheryl sighed and sat down on the nearest chair.

She lifted her foot up mockingly so John could study it better. "Running in high heels. Probably not such a good idea when pregnant," Sheryl said when she put down the cup and accepted the toast from John, gingerly taking a bite.

John smiled and ate his breakfast too, sharing in the silence.

* * *

><p>"John?"<p>

"Hmm?"

"I don't want to talk about it, so stop looking at me all the time."

"You need to get it out."

"I already wrote an entry of my diary," Sheryl pouted.

"That's very good of you, but…"

Sheryl looked at her only friend and narrowed her eyes. "Why does it bother you so much?" None of them minded that the question had been asked before. John was willing to answer, and answering he did. "Because you're my friend. I want to help you, I'll keep you safe."

"Why are you saying that?" Sheryl's voice sounded truly surprised.

"Because I care, Sheryl."

_Sentiment_. _Chemical defect?_ Sheryl had been convinced of that before, but now she wasn't so sure any more. She knew she needed help, but talking about it would hurt. It would mean-

John interrupted her thoughts. "I know, Sheryl. It will make you relive it all and it would be hard, but you need to get it out."

Sheryl lowered her head as she pulled her knees to her chest. "I'm sorry, John. I can't."

John cleared his throat and softly started to sing:

_"Dearest Sheryl, tell me what's wrong.  
><em>_You're enchained by your own sorrow  
><em>_In your eyes, there is no hope for tomorrow  
><em>_How I hate to see you like this  
><em>_There is no way you can deny it  
><em>_I can see that you're oh so sad, so quiet"_

He smiled and took her hand and continued the song with a little more force in his voice.

Sheryl looked at him with wide eyes. "I didn't know you could sing," she softly whispered before John continued.

_"Dearest Sheryl, you and I know  
><em>_How the heartaches come and they go and the scars they're leaving  
><em>_You'll be running once again and the pain will end  
><em>_You will have no time for grieving  
><em>_Dearest Sheryl, you and I cry  
><em>_But the sun is still in the sky and shining above you_  
><em>Let me hear you deduce once more like you did before<em>  
><em>Sing a new song, dearest Sheryl<em>  
><em>Try once more like you did before<em>  
><em>Sing a new song, dearest Sheryl."<em>

John's voice softened again when he looked straight at Sheryl.

_"So the walls came tumbling down_  
><em>And your love's a blown out candle<em>  
><em>All is gone and it seems too hard to handle<em>  
><em>Dearest Sheryl, tell me the truth<em>  
><em>There is no way you can deny it<em>  
><em>I see that you're oh so sad, so quiet<em>

_Dearest Sheryl, you and I know_  
><em>How the heartaches come and they go and the scars they're leaving<em>  
><em>You'll be running once again and the pain will end<em>  
><em>You will have no time for grieving<em>  
><em>Dearest Sheryl, you and I cry<em>  
><em>But the sun is still in the sky and shining above you<em>  
><em>Let me hear you deduce once more like you did before<em>  
><em>Sing a new song, dearest Sheryl<em>  
><em>Try once more like you did before.<em>  
><em>Sing a new song, dearest Sheryl.<em>

_Try once more like you did before._  
><em>Sing a new song, dearest Sheryl."<em>

John's voice trailed off as he looked in her gleaming eyes, squeezing her hand again slightly. When he wanted to pull away, Sheryl tightened her grip around his fingers. "I'm afraid, John; afraid of what is coming and of what has already happened. Those men… I just– I couldn't do anything. They were to strong and I just didn't see it coming and they overpowered me and touched me… They touched me everywhere and I couldn't stop them and the hurt and over and over again…" She exhaled deeply and looked at John, shaking her head. "I- I'm sorry. I shouldn't bother you with this." She looked away, bowing her head.

"Sheryl..?" John asked when he took both her hands in his. "You're not bothering me, listen just this once: I want to help you, I'm not just singing to you to boast about my qualities; I'm not that good. Trust me." Suddenly, John found himself standing. He bent over to Sheryl and hugged her close. He stroked her hair comfortingly and felt her responding awkwardly. "It'll all turn out fine, Sheryl. You know what?" John broke the hug and stepped back. "I'll get dressed, and we will go to the park and have a nice day out. You'll be refreshed when your mum comes here, and you will have enough energy to endure her. Drink another tea, be right back!" he yelled over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He tried very hard not to worry about his friend, but the fact that he was in control about what to do instead of always being a few steps behind did cause him to worry a lot. She needed to snap out of that way of behaviour and get on. _That was easier said than done._

* * *

><p>When John returned to the kitchen, Sheryl just stuck a big chunk of chocolate in her mouth. John frowned. "What are you doing?"<p>

"I'm eating John," Sheryl answered, swallowing the chocolate first.

"I can see that. But I didn't buy chocolate."

"Mrs. Hudson did."

"Ah," John smiled. Wow, Sheryl made him smile a lot, he noticed himself.

"You're smiling a lot recently," Sheryl commented, casually opening the jam jar and dipping the biggest spoon they had in the delicious red substance.

"I know. Sheryl? That's unhealthy. Have some toast with cheese, it's better for you."

"Well," Sheryl protested, "I don't feel like toast and cheese. I wanted chocolate and jam."

Trying his best to repress a grin, John grabbed Sheryl's hand and pulled her towards the door, throwing her coat at her in the process.

* * *

><p>It was not exactly cold outside, it was the fresh feeling there always is on a summer morning. John and Sheryl walked down the street towards the Park some yards further. Both sat down on a bench at the edge of the grass.<p>

"You know, John," Sheryl said pensively, "I saw this little girl at the clinic yesterday. Her mother was one of the overly caring types, you know? I imagined myself in her place, caring, loving. I will be a rubbish mother, won't I, John?" She didn't expect an answer, and John knew. "I mean, imagine me, as a mother of a baby girl. It would be horrible."

John looked at Sheryl with a surprised look on his face. "It's a girl?"

Sheryl nodded, her gaze wandering absently around the quiet park. "Yes, I saw it at the picture."

"What did Mycroft say?"

Sheryl shrugged. "Nothing, just as always."

"Oh –" John said, but he was interrupted by Sheryl's phone.

"That's Mycroft again." Sheryl took out the phone and answered it. "yes?"

"Oh, is she her already? Yes, I'm going home now. Yes, I'm fine, bye!" Sheryl hung up, irritated by her brother's concern.

"Well, John, are you coming? Mum is waiting at 221B, and we can't have Mrs. Hudson tell her too much now, can we? Besides, Mum is dying to meet you!"

John swallowed. He wasn't really sure if he wanted to Mrs. Holmes.


	9. IX

While John and Sheryl walked back to Baker Street, Sheryl fished a -John had to look twice to make sure he saw it right- lipstick and mascara out of her coat pocket. She stood still right in front of a shop window and quickly applied the make-up.

John gaped at the sight, and without looking at him, Sheryl grinned. "What? Never seen a girl applying make-up?"

"Well, yes of course. But not you… You brought Molly over to do it for you that… night." John swallowed hard, remembering that night and what it had brought them. _Her_, John corrected himself. _What it had brought her_.

"Ah, you know John, you don't know my mum. She demands I wear make-up, because my skin is too pale, my eyes too glassy and my lips too full. Mums are hard to please in that aspect."

Sheryl started walking again, stuffing the make-up back in her pockets while John followed her on her heels. When they walked around the corner, Sheryl sighed deeply. "Mum's already inside. Are you ready John?"

John grinned sarcastically. "You sound like she's a witch of some sort."

Sheryl cast him a meaningful look. "She is. Trust me."

John opened the door and entered the house. Sheryl closed the door behind her and walked up the stairs, trying to adjust her hair in a more stylish model, and pushed the door to the living room open.

"Hello mum. Enjoying your tea?" Sheryl's voice suddenly sounded cold and distant.

"Hello Sheryl dear! Let me look at you."

John entered just in time to see a tall woman grab Sheryl's shoulders, scanning her daughter from head to toe.

"Don't Sheryl-dear me, mum. I'm not in the mood." Sheryl wriggled away from her mother's hands and took a few steps backwards. She shrugged off her trench coat and motioned at John. "Mum, this is John, my flat-mate."

"Ah, hello John. It's a pleasure to meet you," the woman, Sheryl's mum, said, "at last. I've been reading your blog. Really... interesting."

John nodded and shook the extended hand. He took a good look at Mrs. Holmes and saw a strict woman, just a little smaller than Sheryl but still rather tall. Her thick, black hair was braided in a fashionable roll on the back of her head. She and Sheryl shared the same grey-green eyes, but not the mouth nor the cheekbones.

"Well, Sheryl. You look good, given the circumstances. Are you feeling well? Do you take good care of yourself?" Mrs. Holmes asked, sitting down and looking at her daughter attentively.

"John's a doctor, mum; he takes pretty good care of me." Sheryl shot a smile in John's direction.

Immediately, Mrs. Holmes's eyes flashed towards the doctor, but apparently she didn't see anything appalling, because shortly after that she fixed her cold gaze on Sheryl again. "Will you tell me what happened? I hadn't heard anything about all this in the news," Mrs. Holmes continued. This resulted in a death-glare from Sheryl. John coughed nervously. "Do you two want me to leave? I can go upstairs, I have work to do."

"No," Mrs. Holmes commanded, not taking her eyes off Sheryl, "stay here. Please," she added as an afterthought.

"Oh, okay," John stammered, feeling miserable suddenly. Now he understood Sheryl didn't like her mother. John was forming some antipathy towards the woman himself.

"Well, Sheryl, tell me what happened that night."

"No, mum. Mycroft has been able to avoid leaking anything of this to the press."

"So, John. You and Sheryl are friends, you solve crimes together. Where were you when this happened?" Sheryl's mother inquired, noticing she won't gain any information from her daughter in this was and thus trying it some other way.

"I, erm, I was sent home by Sheryl," John explained, trying to defend himself. It wasn't easy, defending yourself when a gaze like that was fixed on every move you made.

"I see. But you're helping her now?"

"Yes," John nodded, "I forced her to see a doctor, I force her to eat and sleep regularly. Just the normal things a doctor should pay attention to."

"I see." Mrs. Holmes seemed satisfied with that. "Did Mycroft accompany you to the doctor?"

Sheryl nodded curtly.

"He hasn't been in touch afterwards?"

"No, mum, not really."

"Do you have clothes? These seem to fit for now, but you'll grow in the months to come. What about us going now? I'm sure shopping will cheer you up."

Sheryl frowned. "Seriously, mother? Shopping will cheer me up? Shopping has never cheered me up, and it certainly will not do so now."

Mrs. Holmes tightened her lips without saying anything, but Sheryl stayed put. "I will not go out shopping with you, mum. You forced your presence on me today while I don't desire it. Please leave. John needs to measure my blood-pressure and I have to eat and rest. Say 'hi' to dad from me, I'll send you two a card when she's born."

Sheryl got to her feet and opened the door invitingly to her mother. Mrs. Holmes stood as well, and looked at her daughter. John could see she realised she would never win this verbal war from Sheryl. In an almost tender gesture, she laid her hand on Sheryl's growing belly and stroked it gently. After a last glance at John, she nodded her goodbye and left. Sheryl slammed the door shut behind her.

John's mobile beeped just once. Sheryl shot him another glance, but left to the kitchen and sat down behind her microscope, fumbling with the buttons furiously. He opened the message and read it. He smiled. All the Holmes's were the same. They cared for each other, but would think at least three times before admitting that.

_John, let me know when something is wrong with Sheryl. Look after her for me. Thank you. Samantha Holmes._

John quickly replied.

_Of course I will, Mrs. Holmes. John_

When John had put his phone away and looked at Sheryl, her face had gone ashen. "Good god, Sheryl! Are you alright?"

She nodded and made a vague gesture with her left hand. "I-I'm fine, John. Just stress I think."

"Here, drink this. I'll make toast, and we both are having a quiet night in. You need rest and nourishment."

John made the promised toast and tea, and kept a close eye on his flatmate. The colour had come back to her face, but she was uncharacteristically quiet.

When the two of them sat on the couch, watching the news, Sheryl suddenly grabbed her stomach, and looked with widened, frightened eyes at John.

John froze as he looked in her scared face and quickly asked what was wrong.

"I felt something and it doesn't feel good, John."

"Where does it hurt?" John hurriedly asked.

"It's not a hurt, more like an itch, or tickle," Sheryl answered, her eyes still as wide as dishes.

John chuckled softly as he realised what it had been.

"What is so funny? Isn't it dangerous?" Sheryl demanded.

"No silly, it isn't. You just felt the baby for the first time. It was about time too, but still. It's all perfectly normal."

Sheryl shifted up her top and looked at her exposed belly. "I can't see anything moving, but I do feel it though."

"Try and put your hand on it," John advised, taking her wrist in his hand and guiding it to the milky swell on her stomach.

Sheryl's hand shook a little when she touched her own belly, but her scared eyes softened when she felt the little stroke on the inside of the swell. John smiled at her and let go of her wrist.

**A/N: I'm not an expert on pregnancies, so any mistakes or inaccuracies are completely unintentional.**


	10. X

"My God… JOOOOOOOHN!"

Sheryl's knuckles were white as her fingers were wrapped around the railing of the bed as tight as she could. Sweat beads formed on her forehead and her eyes were widened in pain and agony.

She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on John's soft and steady voice beside her head, telling her to breathe through the contractions. He wiped his hand over temples and stroked her hand.

"Sheryl, breathe in time with me," John shushed, puffing exaggeratedly.

"Ooowww…" Sheryl moaned. Her chest heaved from the exertion and panting as she breathed through another wave of pain. "For god's sake, when can I PUSH already!" she yelled when the pain ebbed away.

"Soon, Sheryl, soon. I'll tell you when you can do that." John smiled reassuringly at his friend and opened his mouth to say some more consoling words, but a nurse, Amanda her nametag said, stuck her head around the door. "Doctor? I'm sorry to disturb you but there's a man here who wants to speak to you."

John looked at Sheryl and doubted, but when he saw she had her eyes closed and breathed relatively easy for now, he nodded at the nurse and followed her outside.

"Oh, hello Mycroft," John said as soon as he recognized the man.

"How is she?" the man demanded, shoving polite talk aside rigourously.

"Erm, she's fine, considering the circumstances."

"She's been pregnant for 29 weeks. That surely can't be good."

"Many babies are born and live when born at 29 weeks, Mycroft," John said, speaking at his Doctor's tone.

Mycroft failed to notice. "Can I see her, John?" he almost pleaded.

John shook his head and the look in his eyes made Mycroft obey for once in his life.

"Fine. Fine! I'll sit here and wait, then. How long will it take?" Mycroft sighed irritatedly.

John grimaced at Mycroft's atypically behaviour. "She's allowed to push between ten minutes and the half hour now. Do her parents know already?"

Mycroft nodded tersely and sat down in the uncomfortable plastic chairs. John sighed and glanced at his watch. Sheryl and he had been in the hospital for almost 24 hours now. It was already dark outside; it was almost eleven o' clock.

"Her parents will not come today; Sheryl forbade them." Mycroft glanced at his watch too and shivered slightly.

John nodded and walked back to the door. Before he could enter the room, Mycroft called him back. "John?"

John turned to look at Sheryl's brother. He looked terrible. His tie was undone and his trousers were creased. His jacket was draped over the chairs and his waistcoat was unbuttoned. His hair looked as if he had tossed his hands through it repeatedly.

"Yes?"

"Thank you." A faint, grateful smile crept over Mycroft's face as he looked at John.

John smiled and went inside.

* * *

><p><strong>Twenty-six hours ago<strong>

"John, I can't sleep. I've cramp in my calves." Sheryl stood in the middle of the living room, looking very tired. One hand was put in her waist while the other was protectively draped over her swollen stomach. She was dressed only in low pajama bottoms that left part of her belly uncovered, a plain white shirt and her purple dressing gown.

John walked to the kitchen and searched for the milk in the fridge. He looked at Sheryl. "Have you disinfected the microwave after… "

Sheryl shook her head.

John sighed and grabbed a small saucepan from the cupboards and poured plenty of milk in it. He turned on the gas and glanced at Sheryl again. His eyes softened when he took her form in. She looked beautiful and even a bit vulnerable.

When the milk started boiling, John poured it in a mug and handed it to Sheryl. "Sit down and drink that, I'm sure it will help," he said, gently pushing her towards the chair.

He sank through his knees in front of her and massaged her calves, obtaining a soft sigh of relief from his pregnant flatmate.

When she had drank all the milk, Sheryl left again to her bedroom to try and sleep again. For the last few weeks she was so tired all the time. Lestrade had brought some cases, but with a growing stomach and the fatigue all the time, it became harder and harder to focus entirely on the case. Sheryl had decided to only take care of some cold cases which Greg was more than happy to provide. He had grabbed every occasion to visit Baker Street to see if Sheryl was well. Although Sheryl would never admit it, she was rather thankful for the DI, who did everything he could to help her and who kept her occupied.

Sheryl sighed contently when she slid between the cool sheets and closed her eyes, knowing that if anything were to happen John would be there to help. The milk had made her drowsy and relaxed, and soon she drifted off to sleep.

She couldn't remember why she had woken up, and stared disorientated at the ceiling. She closed her eyes again and tried to turn over to lie on her other side. That was when she noticed something was wrong. Her bed was wet.

With an unborn baby pressing against her bladder, Sheryl had visited the toilet more often than normal the last few weeks, but she had never wet her bed before.

She gingerly lifted the covers and stared her legs. That was an enormous amount of water, and it didn't smell like urine.

Sheryl swallowed hard and threw her legs out of the bed. She felt a hurting sting in her side, and hastily stumbled to the door. "John? John!"

It took the doctor a few moments to wake up and figure out who called his name. When he heard the urgency in her voice he was out of bed in no-time and ran downstairs.

"Good grief, Sheryl, what's going on?" he sleepily asked, but when he saw her wet pajamas bottoms and the scared look in her eyes, he knew exactly what time it was.

"Oh. Erm, okay. I'll put on some trousers and a shirt, and then I'll get you to the hospital. Will you call Diana or shall I?"

"I'll do it," Sheryl decided. She searched for her phone and dialed the midwife's number.

"Hi, Diana, it's Sheryl here." The detective quickly explained the situation and had just finished the conversation when John came down again.

"I'm only 29 weeks in… is that okay?" Sheryl asked John,

John nodded reassuringly. "Of course. It will all be fine. Now, come with me. We need to check what exactly is going on."

He grabbed the bag they had made ready from under Sheryl's bed and led her outside. He hailed a cab and carefully helped her to get inside the car.

They were at the hospital in ten minutes, and John watchfully ushered her inside, supporting her as well as he could.

Sheryl was guided inside a room and laid down on a bed, when John's mobile phone rang. John fished the mobile out of his trouser pocket and saw who called.

"Hello Mycroft, how are you?"

"Don't play smart on me, _doctor_. How is Sheryl?"

"Oh, fine. Her water just broke, and I think the contractions will start very soon."

"Is she alright?"

"Of course she is, Mycroft."

Mycroft was silent for a while. "Can I come?"

John smiled. Oh, how he loved the Holmes' family. "Yes, of course. St Bart's, second floor, right wing, room 839. I've got to go. Bye."

* * *

><p><strong>Present Time<strong>.

Sheryl's grip tightened around John's fingers as she tried not to push. ""Fuuuuck! This damn hurts!" Diana entered the room again after a quick coffee break and smiled at Sheryl. "Sheryl, by the next contraction you must push as hard as you can."

Amanda was present, and John held Sheryl's hand firmly. "Okay Sheryl, we can do this, okay?" he whispered.

The contraction followed up faster and faster, and Sheryl squeezed her eyes shut to prevent the tears from falling and shook her head violently. "I can't!" she sobbed. "I'm so tired and it hurts so much. I can't do it, John."

"Sshhhhh.. You're doing really well Sheryl, don't give up now." John bit his lip; he wished he could help her but there was nothing he could do except talking to her.

"Okay Sheryl. Push!" Diana said, "I can see the head already. Push. Breathe and keep pushing, keep pushing, keep pushing, keep pu–"

"Diana, please shut the fuck up!" Sheryl yelled. "It's perfectly obvious I must push, I'm not a brain dead idiot!"

John repressed a grin as he tried very hard not to look at the baffled face of the midwife.

Sheryl's face had become flushed crimson and John had used two towels already to take the sweat from her forehead.

"Sheryl, just one last push," John encouraged his friend.

Sheryl gave all she had, accompanied with one last yell. She sank back deep in the mattress and her head dived in the pillow when Diana pulled the slippery and bloody baby out. She shut her eyes and tried to calm her ragged breath.

"Congratulations, Sheryl, a beautiful and healthy baby-boy," Diana announced proudly when the first cries filled the room.

Sheryl's eyes shot open and she lifted her weary head from the soaked pillow. "A boy?" Disbelief was written all over her face as she stretched her arms, asking for her son.

Diana nodded and handed the baby over to Sheryl. It was all wrapped up in a blanket, only the tiny red face peeped out from underneath the white folds.

The door slammed open and Mycroft strode inside. When he saw his little sister in the bed, all wet from sweat, and the little baby in her arms, he stopped dead.

Sheryl was engrossed by the little human she held in her arms and didn't even notice her brother.

John's hand rested beside Sheryl's pillow, his blue eyes cast down on the baby. Sheryl's baby. When he looked up and saw Mycroft in the middle of the room, unsure of how to proceed, John smiled and motioned the man over.

"Sheryl? Mycroft's here."

Sheryl looked up from the baby as well and locked eyes with Mycroft. None of them spoke, until Sheryl broke the silence. "You're an uncle, My. Unfortunately, it's a boy."

Within a few steps, Mycroft was beside the bed and sat down on the stool. "May I?" he asked.

Sheryl gingerly handed the baby over and laid him in Mycroft's arms. "He's beautiful," John heard him sigh, almost inaudible.

"How are you going to call him?" Mycroft suddenly asked.

"I was thinking about Diego," Sheryl answered.

Mycroft looked up, his eyes were watery. When he handed Diego over to his mother and the baby wrapped his hand around Sheryl's finger, Mycroft and John smiled affectionately.

Sheryl dozed off to sleep when John took over the baby and cradled the youngest Holmes in his arms.

Mycroft stood and, when John was turned away to lay Diego down in his cot, he laid his hand on Sheryl's curls and softly stroked them.

"Diego will do perfectly, sister of mine," he whispered. He exhaled deeply and looked at John. "Thank you, John."


	11. XI

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews and alerts! It's awesome to open my mailbox and see all the response! Thank you for that! Please, enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think!**

"Sheryl?" John shouted from the hall. He had been waiting for Sheryl for over 5 minutes now, and he was getting impatient. To be honest, John had rather impressed himself by being very patient with Sheryl for the last seven weeks. When she wasn't reading on her laptop she was seated in the middle of the living room with all kinds of "how to be a good mum"- and "ten reasons why a baby is crying"- books piled all around her.

If she wasn't doing that, she was experimenting with baby nutrition like milk-powder and fruit snacks. Well, that was after she had lived through two weeks of a slight depression. She never told John what was wrong, but it wasn't too difficult to figure out. She was the baby's mother, but the father… John didn't even want to think about it. He had helped Sheryl as well as he could, and he think he did a good job at that, but with Sheryl you never knew. Still waters run deep; and, on this subject, Sheryl had been rather quiet. But after the two first weeks, things turned sunnier and after a while Sheryl started to 'investigate' and, generally, driving Mrs. Hudson and John up the walls.

"Sheryl! I'm going on my own!" John threatened, but he had barely finished his sentence when Sheryl leapt down the stairs. She carried a baby-blue carrier, and was dressed in slim-cut trousers with a loose-fitting sweater, and she had changed her high-heels for bright blue All Stars this time.

"Sorry, John, I had to check on the baby room."

John shook his head fondly and opened the door for his friend. They hailed a taxi and not much later John and Sheryl were on their way to the hospital to pick up Sheryl's baby son Diego James Holmes.

Because Diego was born almost 2 months too early, his weight was way below average; barely 1000 grams. He had to stay in hospital for seven weeks, and today Sheryl was finally allowed to pick him up. Little Diego had gained almost 1500 grams during his stay in the hospital; he was now a healthy baby.

John hadn't wasted the last few weeks. He had asked for three weeks off from work and had spent that fortnight in making the flat baby-proof; which meant: a hash in front of the stairs and no dangerous experiments on the table or cables and outlets within a baby's reach. He had also made a nice baby-room upstairs, where Mrs. Hudson had kept her vacuum cleaner and ironing board and such things. Together with Mrs. Hudson and Sheryl he had painted the walls in a nice light mint-green. Mycroft had arranged for the little cot and dresser to arrive at Baker Street before John had asked for it. The Yarders had all chipped in for baby-clothes, Molly had given a huge pink stuffed Elephant which now stood proudly in the corner and Mike and the others who worked at Bart's had chipped in as well to buy a enormous stock of nappies.

Lestrade had given Sheryl and Diego the necessary things like a bottle, teat, a warm bodysuit that could be used as pajamas and two small stuffed animals that were exactly the same. When Sheryl had unwrapped the two gifts and saw the contents, she had looked at Lestrade with raised eyebrows. Lestrade had smiled and said: "You can better have two; what if they lose one? I have two kids, trust me on this." He had looked down at Sheryl warmly and patted her hand.

John had bought a present too, but hadn't given it yet; he wanted it to be special, some sort of welcome-home gift for their youngest flatmate.

When the taxi stopped in front of the hospital, Sheryl jumped out of the taxi, leaving John to pay the fare.

During the ride Sheryl hadn't said much, and John knew why. She was scared for what would happen when little Diego would live with them; how would her life continue? The last few weeks, Sheryl had been edgy and wired, sometimes even snappy. John had just shrugged it away, he understood and he could tell her a hundred times a day that he would be there to help her and to sort it all out, that she wasn't alone, but somehow it didn't work; she just had to experience it before she could accept that as the truth.

They had visited Diego on a daily basis, often two or three times a day, but sometimes Sheryl was missing for an hour or two, and when she came back she refused to tell John where she had been. The smell in her clothes, the vague smell of disinfectant, hung around her and was easily recognised by the ex-army doctor.

John opened the doors he remembered what Sheryl had said when they had visited Diego, now almost five weeks ago, shortly after Sheryl has started to borrow all kinds of books from the library.

_"John," Sheryl started, walking through the corridors of the hospital, "it's funny, but Diego has been one of the very few who had been able to surprise me."_

_"Oh," John answered, "in what way?"_

_"Be being a boy. I was sure he would be a girl. Funny, eh?"_

When John reached the room where Diego had been for the last seven weeks, he saw that Sheryl was already inside, lifting Diego gingerly from his little bed and carrying him in her arms, making sure he was comfortable. The carrier she had brought for this purpose lay lonely on the floor, forgotten by Sheryl. John entered the room as well and picked it up from the floor.

"Sheryl, don't you want to use this? He will become rather heavy if you carry him like that all the way home," John said, walking after Sheryl. She didn't respond, but climbed the stairs instead of going downstairs to the entrance hall.

"Sheryl, where are you going?" John asked bewildered.

"I'm going to introduce Diego to Molly," Sheryl answered matter-of-factly.

John grinned at her choice of words while he walked after her. There had been a no-visitor policy in the room were Diego had been for the last seven weeks, except for close relations, so all the visitors had to watch from behind the window.

"Molly?" Sheryl asked as soon as she had entered the morgue.

"Ah, hello Sheryl! Oh!" Molly quickly came closer, almost knocking over a table on her way. "Can you take him home today already? Oh… isn't he cute!" Molly cooed over the little boy, offering Diego her finger around which he immediately wrapped his own tiny hand.

"Can I hold him?" Molly asked, eyes still focused on little Diego.

"Erm…' Sheryl mumbled, looking at John who nodded encouragingly at her.

"Okay," Sheryl suddenly smiled proudly, gingerly handing Diego to Molly, who folded her arms around the little boy and tickled his belly softly with her index finger.

"He's so cute!" Molly chirped, slowly cradling the baby-boy in her arms. "He has got your eyes, Sheryl; he looks very intelligent."

Sheryl sniggered. "How can you tell? He's just seven weeks!"

"Well…" Molly stammered, a blush crept over her cheeks when she carefully handed Diego back to Sheryl. "I just thought… He just does look really clever. My cousin, when she was born, also looked clever, and she really is. She can already tie her shoelaces, and she's only six!"

John smiled genuinely at the young pathologist. "To be honest, Molly, I thought the exact same thing when I first saw Diego. But Sheryl, we have to go. Mycroft wanted to see Diego too, remember? He would be at Baker Street to give you his other gift over ten minutes. "

Sheryl sighed. "Well, we'd better go then."

John and Sheryl stepped in the cab and Diego, who had been incredibly silent all day, suddenly started to cry. It was a very loud, attention-grabbing, enormously irritating cry, and Sheryl didn't know what to do. After reading all the books, in which different kinds of cries and yells and other behaviour were described, the cry Diego now performed was not described in any of the books Sheryl had read so far. She made a mental note to borrow more.

"John?" She looked at her friend helplessly. "What's wrong? Did I hurt him?"

John shook his head and took over Diego, rocking him in his arms while shushing soft words to him. "Sheryl, did you bring the teat Lestrade gave you?"

Sheryl shook her head shamefully.

"Oh, that's okay," John said, rocking Diego a little harder, but still Diego didn't stop crying.

He sighed. "Sher, I think you need to sing for him. I don't know what else we can do at this point. I think he needs some food…"

"Oh. Of course, I knew that," Sheryl said, cradling Diego softly but still the boy kept crying.

Suddenly the cabdriver thought it the right moment to get involved in this matter. He glared at Sheryl by using the rearview mirror.

"When me wee kid was born, he cried all ve time too," he said in a think Cockney accent. " 'ave you just picked 'im up from ve 'ospital?"

John nodded, and smiled apologetically. "Sorry, yes."

"Oh, no prob sir, just stick your li'le finger in 'is mouf, that offen works, ye know." The man nodded passionately. "'Tis true, try i' if ye like"

Sheryl looked at John and then at the cabbie, shrugged and gently pushing her pink in his little open mouth. He looked up, surprise spreading over his little red features when he stopped crying.

He closed his eyes and sucked softly and contently on her finger. John's eyes softened when he saw the look on Sheryl's face; filled with utter fascination not unlike the look she often got when a case promised to be brilliant and interesting. The cabbie grinned to himself as well when the silence returned to the taxi and only the sucking form Diego could be heard.

"Well, we 'ave arrived, lass," he said, getting out of his taxi to open the door for Sheryl, offering her a hand to help her to get out of the taxi too. Sheryl smiled gratefully and said: "thank you for helping sir," before she turned around and rang the bell to 221B.

John shook his head and looked at the cabbie, who looked very happy with himself. "Thank sir," John said as well, handing the cabbie the charge he owed him.

"You're welcome ma'e," the cabbie said, before saluting to his imaginary hat and stepping in his taxi and drove off.

When John entered the living room, Sheryl had placed Diego on the sofa and was busy in the kitchen boiling water and getting the right proportion of milk-powder in the bottle. John shrugged off his coat and draped it over his chair before walking over to Diego and cradling him in his arms while leaning back against the sofa comfortably. "Isn't Mrs. Hudson in?" John asked.

"No, I found a note. Her sister had some problem she needed to look after; she will be home later this afternoon, probably around tea-time. She bought Diego a gift too," Sheryl yelled from the kitchen.

When Sheryl entered the living room with the text-book-made bottle (the exact right temperature and thickness) some ten minutes later (the first bottle didn't work out well) she found her two flatmates on the sofa, the oldest asleep, the youngest wide-awake. She smiled and sat down beside John, lifting Diego from his firm but gentle grip and offering her son the bottle of milk. He started to suck the bottle gleefully, his bright blue eyes steadily fixed on hers.

When Mycroft entered the living room, he found John asleep on the sofa with Sheryl beside him. She hadn't noticed his presence, but was bent over Diego, cooing and rocking him in her arms. She now and then murmured and hummed a soft song that sounded very much like Wagner's Valkyrie.

When Lestrade entered the living room, he found John asleep on the sofa, and Sheryl and Mycroft both bent over Diego, cooing and humming softly to the very awake and very happy little boy that lay in his uncle's arms, still sucking happily on the bottle of milk.

The DI coughed discreetly and greeted the two –no, three, he corrected himself- and walked over to the sofa too.

"I just came by to see the boy in real-life," the DI explained. Sheryl looked up and their eyes met. Mycroft couldn't help but notice that their eyes just lingered a little too long in each other, but he didn't comment on it.

"He looks just like his mother," he heard Lestrade's observation. "The same eyes."

"Well," Sheryl rejected, "they often change colour when a baby becomes older, so we'll have to see about that." She eyed the DI a bit more carefully and suddenly noticed that he carried a box.

"Ah," Lestrade said, lifting the box, "I brought you a cake." He placed the box carefully on the table and opened it. He had bought a cake with blue icing and elegant white letters that read: "Welcome Home, Diego!"

Mycroft was up already to grab a knife and some plates from the kitchen, while Lestrade joked: "shall we wake John or doesn't he like cake?"


	12. XII

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews and alerts! It's awesome to open my mailbox and see all the response! Thank you for that! Please, enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think!**

**I'm not very proud of part of this chapter, but about the ending I am. :) The end is rather open, I do agree, but I'll leave everything to your imagination. :) **

**Well, thank you for all your support during the writing process; it's been a project that was rather new for me, hopefully I haven't ruined any thing from the show (although I probably did... :$) Thank you very much for reading this.**

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><p>"John!" Greg softly shook John's shoulder in an attempt to wake the man, and John suddenly sat up straight when he heard his name. He saw three pairs of amused eyes fixed on him, and he half-heartedly apologised.<p>

"Oh, it doesn't matter," Mycroft said, entering the living room again with some plates and forks in his hands. "Oh," Mycroft explained when he saw the confused look in John's eyes. "Lestrade here brought a cake. Let's not waste some good bakery, now shall we?"

He held up the knife meaningfully and grinned like a schoolboy. "it's been years since I last had cake," he smiled gleefully.

Sheryl snorted inelegantly but was quickly silenced by a warning look from the DI. John shook his head fondly and went to the kitchen to fetch the bottle of champagne he had bought for this occasion.

He was greeted by cheers when he showed the bottle to the small gathering.

One bottle and one cake later, the four adults sat on the sofa, silently admiring the little sleeping baby.

"Sheryl, you'd better bring him to bed. Or shall I?" John offered. His offer was accepted, and so it was John who first lay the little baby in his own little bed. He flicked off the light when he was sure Diego was asleep, and walked out of the door, softly closing it behind him. When he turned, he found himself chest to chest with Mycroft.

"Oh, sorry, Mycroft," John started, but Mycroft's unfaltering stare silenced the doctor.

"Is there something wrong?" John felt a bit nervous and… weird.

The tall man shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the smaller man.

"Oh. Good. That's good, isn't it?" John could almost hit himself. What a stupid thing to ask.

"Yes, it is." Mycroft actually smiled. It wasn't sad, wistful or fake. It was genuine and fond.

"Good."

"Well, John, I wanted to thank you again for being there for Sheryl," Mycroft said. "I wanted to thank you for being there for her when she needed you."

"Well, anytime," John answered. Wow… where was this conversation going? "I will always be there for her."

Mycroft smiled meaningfully, but it was a meaning John didn't completely understand. "Of course you will."

John smiled sheepishly, suddenly he almost shouted: "NO! Not like that! I mean, yes I will, but not in the…. You know.. romantic way?"

Mycroft's smile widended just a tiny fraction, but John noticed and he smiled back, clearly relieved.

"Well," Mycroft said, "I will kidnap you soon, one of these days. I want to hear all about Diego."

"Looking forward to it," John flirted with a big grin.

Mycroft laughed and turned away. John saw him going down the stairs and felt happy.

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><p>Sheryl, as soon as she saw her brother run after John, knew what was going on. John and Mycroft… how odd. But at last, Mycroft had made a move. That was a good thing.<p>

But when she looked at the detective on her sofa, she understood how Mycroft must feel. It was an odd feeling.

Lestrade left not much later after Mycroft. John had gone to bed already because he had an early shift the next morning.

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><p><strong>11.35 PM<strong>

_In the commotion, I forgot to tell. The rapists are captured. Do you want to identify them? -MH_

_No. -SH_

_Are you sure? Might be helpful to close the case. -MH_

_I'm sure. I trust your deductions this once. Thank you for letting me know, though. -SH_

**11.55 PM**

_Diego has your eyes. -MH_

_I know. He's beautfitul, isn't he? -SH_

_Mothers príde speaking? -MH_

_Rightfully so, though. -MH_

_Thank you. -SH_

**00.03 AM**

_Do you want to be Diego's godfather? -SH_

**00.10 AM**

_Yes. I'd be honoured. -MH_

**00.17 AM**

_Thank you. -SH_

_You've said that three times this evening. -MH_

_Good deduction. Don't feel flattered; blame the hormones, John says. -SH_

_By the way; thank God you finally made a move. -SH_

_With John. -SH_

_He's worth it. -MH_

_When's your date with Greg? -MH_

_Don't know. I don't think he wants me; I have a baby now. -SH_

_I'd have thought your dedcutions were so good. Are you really this blind? -MH_

_Oh. -SH_

_Good luck, sister dear ;-). -MH_

_You just used a smiley, you never do that. -SH_

_You too, by the way. -SH_

_Diego's crying. I'd better check on him. Good night, My. -SH_

_Good night, Sher. -MH_

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><p>Sheryl's phone lighted up from its desolated place on the sofa, but there was no-one to read its text.<p>

_If you ever need my help, any help, I'll be glad to help out. You might have deduced certain things already, Sheryl, but I wanted to ask you anyway: would you fancy a cup of coffee someplace someday? -Greg_

* * *

><p>Baker Street was closed down; dark and silent. Sheryl had walked bare-footed through the hall towards the baby-room and quietly opened the door. She had walked over to the bed and craddled Diego untill he had fallen asleep again.<p>

She looked down on her now-sleeping child. She was a _mother;_ something she had never dreamt to become.

The little Diego was peacefully asleep. He lay completely relaxed in his cot; his arms and legs sprawled all around. Sheryl felt something dawn in her stomach, and suddenly something wet tickled her cheek. She realised the creature in this bed was hers to protect and look after. He was completely helpless, dependent on her, no matter who his father was or how he was conceived. Sheryl would love him. In fact, she believed she already did.

In the dark calm night, Diego's first night at home, Sheryl swore to herself protect him whatever happened.

She was the only one who could stop him crying, who would understand his little cries and whimpers or needs. The only one who would understand what is was to live with a brain too large. The only one who was his mother.

Diego was just a sleeping baby, but he was hers. He was Sheryl's, just seven weeks old, and now already had he been able to surprise the consulting detective twice, wrapping her around his little finger during the process.

"Whatever happens," Sheryl whispered, caressing her sleeping son's light-pink cheek with her index finger. "Whatever happens, little Diego James Holmes."

**The End**


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